Detour
by ardavenport
Summary: Squad Fifty-One is forced into a detour run by desperate men. Station Fifty-One and Rampart.
1. Chapter 1

**DETOUR**

by ardavenport

**

* * *

- - - part 1**

"So, what did Chet call that stuff?" Sitting in the passenger seat of the squad, Johnny scratched his ear.

"Slumgullion." Roy answered without taking his eyes off the road. He stopped for a red light in the left-hand lane, signaling left.

"Hmmph." He put his hand down in his lap and looked forward, contemplating that day's lunch at the station. "Y'know, I wouldn't have thought it possible with Chet springing something new on us. . . . but that stuff was pretty good."

"Yeah." Roy nodded, his own surprise less obvious but equally felt. The big surprise for lunch had been that Chet Kelly's new dish was not only edible, but tasty. There had been almost no leftovers when they were cleaning up and got their latest call. Man stuck in a tree house. But it was canceled when they had nearly reached the address. They were headed back to the station.

The light changed and Roy turned left.

"What does slumgullion mean anyway?" Gage made a face, as if the name of the dish was the part of it that tasted bad.

"I don't know. Kind of sounds Irish. Maybe."

Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk.

Roy looked at the rear view mirror on his left, but he couldn't see anything beyond the red utility body of the back of the squad. He didn't see any cars in the right rear view mirror on Johnny's right side.

Honk. Honk. Honk. Hoooooooooonk. Honk. Honk.

Roy looked to his partner. "Is there someone back there?"

Johnny stuck his head out the window, squinting behind them.

"Roy," he sat back, "there's a white car back there. I think they want us to stop."

"Okay."

Honk. Hooooonk. Hooooonk. Hooooonk. Hooooonk.

Turn signal flashing, Roy slid the squad into the right lane and slowed. A white four door Ford drove up alongside. A man in the passenger seat waved and pointed forward. He looked like he was shouting, but his window was rolled up, so Roy couldn't hear what it was. Both paramedics leaned forward as the car accelerated ahead of them.

Johnny looked at Roy. "Guess he wants us to stop."

Roy followed the white Ford as it slowed down and turned onto a side street. They passed the asphalt parking lot of a drab small business. Beyond that, the area was residential with trees, yellowing green lawns and duplexes. Roy stopped right behind the car next to the curb, but he left the engine running. The man they'd seen jumped out and ran to Johnny's window. He was large, middle-aged and muscular with a short brown crew-cut. He wore a loose gray shirt over jeans.

"What seems to be the problem?"

He leaned forward on Johnny's side, practically into the cab of the squad.

"Boy, am I glad I saw you guys. My friend in the back seat is hurt. We were taking him to a hospital, but I'm not sure he's going to make it."

Johnny reached for his door handle. "What kind of injury does he have?"

Roy reached for the squad radio to call in the still alarm.

Click-click.

Roy froze, his hand on the mike, and stared up at the gun now pointed at Johnny's head.

"You don't need to call this one in."

Neither paramedic moved as the man quickly opened the passenger door. Johnny slid over to the middle as the man climbed in and closed the door.

"Turn that radio off."

Roy hesitated. "If we get a call and we don't answer they're going to wonder where we are."

"Then they can just wonder."

"They'll send someone out to look for us - - "

Click. The man put the gun at the base of Johnny's skull, pointing upward.

"Then you better hope they don't find us. Turn it off."

Roy replaced the mike and flipped the power switch off. The static background noise from it went dead. Johnny sat up straight, rigidly still, hands in his lap, eyes forward, not looking at anything.

"Okay, okay. It's off."

"Just follow the car."

The white car started up again. Roy put his foot on the gas. They passed through the neighborhood, Roy staying no less than a car-length behind the other vehicle. They saw no one for the first few blocks, but at the first sight of a couple people on a sidewalk on the next block ahead the man reached behind the seat back and covered Johnny's head with his black fireman's helmet, concealing the gun with the rear rim.

They approached a busy cross street and Roy risked a question. "Where are we going?"

"Just follow the car."

"Y'know," Johnny kept his eyes forward as he talked, "if your buddy in the car is really hurt, he might need medical attention right away. Maybe we should stop - - -"

Gage started forward, mouth open. Roy saw the barrel of the gun pressing into the dark hair at the base of his neck under the helmet. Their passenger's face, unfeeling blue eyes, looked past Johnny to Roy.

"Just follow the car."

Looking back to the road, Roy nodded. "Okay, okay."

The man pulled the gum back far enough to push Johnny back in his seat. His back went rigid again, the press of the gun hard at the base of his skull.

"No talking. Either of you."

The man's large hand squeezed hard on Johnny's upper arm, making it really hurt before he let go. The gun didn't move. If it went off, Johnny knew he'd never feel it. If the bullet went all the way through, the blood and brains would probably splatter forward, all over the dashboard, the windshield. Would Roy have enough time to get out? And if he did, would he survive a fall going forty miles an hour? And would he be hit by a car innocently coming from behind them, not expecting someone to come diving out from the driver's side? Johnny felt a chill in his stomach. Would Captain Stanley have to tell Roy's wife what happened to him?

Johnny's eyes flicked toward Roy's. For a fraction of a second they met. What could they do now?

Roy turned back to the road and kept driving. The white Ford went north on Avalon. It didn't go too fast; it used it's turn signals, slowed down for all the yellow lights. The squad stayed right behind it, never allowing enough space for even the most aggressive L.A. driver to get between them.

It slowed and turned right. The squad followed. They moved past businesses, parking lots, gas stations, lots of signs, wires and blue sky overhead. None of the other traffic passing noticed them.

Roy licked his lips and moved to the turning lane behind the white car. He and Johnny had scissors in their hip pouches. There were two of them. Only one of him. The problem was . . . .

. . . . he couldn't think of anything that was faster than a bullet.

There was something about their unwelcome passenger that told Roy that he knew how to handle a gun. Maybe even kill with one.

They turned onto a narrower two lane street. They were out of there area. Station Sixteen would be called first for any fires or emergencies here. They drove through the winding streets of a lower middle class neighborhood, the houses modest and single story, the lots small. The lawns were more brown than green. There were few trees and hardly any people out on the sidewalks in the warm afternoon. An old man walking a dog. A teenager who should have been in school.

Left turn. Right turn. Right turn. The street sign said Vinatero Way.

The street ended in a cul-de-sac. The white car pulled into the driveway of a white, quasi-Spanish style home with overgrown bushes in front and a brown lawn. Roy stopped the squad in the street. The number on the house was 3723.

A man got out from the driver's side. He wore a white, short sleeve shirt and gray pants. He was tall and thin, but with muscular arms and longish graying brown hair. He was perhaps in his late forties. He hurried to Roy's door.

"Get that car out of the driveway, Chuck!"

"But what about Larry!" The thinner man waved back at the car.

"We'll take care of Larry after we hide this thing. And get your girlfriend to get her car out of that carport."

Chuck looked unhappy, but it was pretty clear who gave the orders in the group. He turned back to the house where a woman wearing a green pantsuit came out. She had tinted blond hair and wore pink lipstick. She exchanged a few hurried and upset words with Chuck before going back into the house. Chuck went back to the white car. He backed it out of the driveway into the street. A moment later a light blue two-door Chevy backed out as well.

"Drive in there."

The man grabbed Johnny's arm again. He took off the fire helmet, so the gun could be clearly seen again.

Roy slowly moved the squad forward, backed it up to turn. Backed it up again before going forward into the driveway. The carport was at the rear side of the house with only a back wall and an overhead cover. No garage door.

He stopped the engine. They heard the woman complaining. Her high heels clicked on the cement and she peered into Roy's window.

"What the hell is this? Where the hell is all the money you're supposed to come back with?"

He did not answer her. "Get out fireman."

Roy opened his door and slid out. Pushed forward, Johnny came next. The man came last, the gun still in place.

"Sally! Get over here!"

Chuck helped another man out of the white Ford, now parked in the driveway, blocking the squad. The injured man wore a plaid shirt, white and navy blue. A black jacket was tied around the thigh of one leg, a dark stain of blood on his jeans under it. He moaned as the two helped him to the back door of the house by a small backyard surrounded by a chain link fence and bushes.

"Get inside."

Roy turned to the gunman. "If we're going to help your friend, we're going to need our equipment. We can't treat him without it."

Those cold blue eyes evaluated him.

"Just get what you need."

Staying out of reach, behind his hostage, the man gripped Johnny's upper arm. He kept the gun at the back of his head. He had a horrible smile on his lips, an evil leer just to let Roy know who was in charge.

Roy went around the back of the squad to the right side. He could only open it part way before it hit a chain link fence on one side of the carport, but it was far enough. The drug box, of course. The trauma box, too? The drug box probably had everything he needed, but It would probably make these people mad if he told them he had to go out and get something else out of the squad.

His eyes fixed on the red biophone box. Of course, he would want to contact the hospital. For a gunshot wound he would almost certainly need to start an IV. A doctor would have to authorize it, but . . . . authorization wouldn't matter to these people. But if he could just call the hospital, then maybe. . . .

Roy grabbed the biophone, tucked the drug box under one arm and took the larger trauma box as well. When he came around the squad again the man hadn't moved. Johnny's eyes glanced up at him and then back down. The man didn't move until Roy passed him, following the woman and other two men into the house.

He walked through a dingy utility area, past the smell of a full trash can on one side and a messy kitchen with a white plastic kitchen chairs and round laminated table. Beyond was a narrow hallway. He followed the voices to a split living and dining room area. The injured man moaned on a worn greenish brown sofa. Roy pushed aside stacks of magazines, set down the medical boxes and sat down on the coffee table next to it.

"I've got to examine the wound. I'll try to be careful."

The injured man almost smiled back at him. "Go ahead. I can take it. I think it's stopped bleeding."

Roy removed the jacket wrapped around the leg. He could only guess at how much blood was on the dark fabric, but there was a large stain on the jeans. He cut a slit up and down from the hole the bullet had made. Then he cut the jeans across the front of the leg, making a huge opening. He checked the back of the leg, but there was no exit wound. The man tensed as he probed the injury, but did not complain. The leg looked swollen but only a little blood oozed the bullet wound.

He took out the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.

"What the hell are you doing standing around here, Chuck? Get a tarp and cover up that fire truck out there before someone sees it." Roy glanced over his shoulder to see the gunman pushing his partner ahead of him. He pulled out a dining room chair and pushed Johnny into it.

"I don't got a tarp." The woman glared at him, hand on her hip. She had large green triangular earrings that clicked when she moved her head.

"Well, then get a bed sheet or blankets or something to cover it up with before the whole neighborhood sees it!" He pointed at Chuck who hesitated over leaving the injured man, but then got up and left. "And you! Get me some tape to tie this guy up with."

She sneered at the man with the gun and went into the kitchen. She didn't even glance at Johnny. She returned with a fat roll of silver duct tape. Roy had his hand on the victim's wrist, counting his pulse, but he could hear the others talking.

"Tie his arms to the chair."

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Because I'm holding the gun."

Roy wrote down the man's blood pressure along with his respiration and pulse rate. The victim moaned; he looked pale, sweating but coherent and in pain. Behind him, Roy heard the duct tape scritch and squeal. He turned. Sally finished taping Johnny's wrists and forearms to the arms of the chair. The man told her to tape his legs as he stuffed his gun into the waist of his pants.

Roy calmly opened the biophone box, the same way he always did on a run. He picked up the black receiver.

Click. Click.

The gun was out again and pointing at him. Looking up, the woman stopped taping one pant leg to a leg of the chair.

"What are you doing?"

"I - I have to call the hospital. Talk to a doctor. I'm not authorized to treat your friend without a doctor's orders."

The barrel of the gun lowered, changing from Roy's head to his chest, an easier target.

"This is all the authorization you need, fireman."

"What are you talking about?" Chuck stood in a doorway with an armload of blankets and sheets. "If he can get a doctor, Jack, let him! That's my brother lying there with a bullet in his leg!"

"Oh and why don't we just have your girlfriend call the police and tell them where we are while we're at it?" Jack lowered his gun. "Finish that!" Sally glared back, but she yanked out a long stretch of duct tape to wrap around Johnny's other leg.

Chuck threw his bundle to the floor. "Don't you order her around like that! You're only here 'cause of my brother's say-so."

"Chuck."

Everyone looked at the victim on the couch.

"Chuck, just do what Jack tells you." He grimaced and groaned, pushing himself up a little. "He got us both out. He knows what he's doing."

"Oh, and you know what you're doing! If this guy can get a doctor, I say we get one. You're not looking that good, Larry."

Roy still held the receiver. "It's just a radio. It can't be traced."

Jack appeared to think this over. "All right. He can call the doctor."

Roy reached for the biophone switch, but froze when the gun came up again.

"Not yet. Sally, get a rag that I can gag this guy with." She left for the kitchen and he pointed at Chuck with his free hand. The gun stayed on Roy. "And pick that stuff up and cover up that fire truck!"

Grumbling, Chuck gathered up the bundle and left. Sally came back with a white and red dish rag which Jack stuffed into Johnny's mouth and she wound the duct tape several times around his head.

"Now." Jack confidently pulled the gun back, forced the upper body of it forward and back. Then he put the muzzle to Johnny's temple.

Click!

"Mmmmuu-UUUHHHHH!!"

Johnny jumped, eyes wide with terror. The chair tipped, but Jack grabbed his black hair and pulled him back upright. He shifted the upper body of the gun again.

"Now," he pressed the muzzle into Johnny's temple again. "Safety's off. Call the doctor."

Roy could hear Johnny's breathing, exhaling rapidly through his nose. He clicked on the biophone.

"Rampart Base, this is Squad Fifty-One. How do you read?"

**- - - End part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**DETOUR**

by ardavenport

**

* * *

- - - part 2**

Captain Stanley ticked down the list of supplies they needed for the station. Wax, replacements for two turnout coats and helmets (with a note from the B-shift captain about the loss), toilet paper - - -

The phone rang.

"LA County Fire Department, Captain Stanley speaking."

"Captain Stanley, this is the dispatcher's office. Have you got Squad Fifty-One at your station?"

"No. They went out on a call, but it was canceled. They're not back yet."

"Well, they haven't answered their last call. We haven't got an answer from them on the radio."

Stanley put his pen down. "They often go to Rampart General for supplies. That's the next most likely place for them to be."

"We were just going to call there. It's probably just a radio malfunction."

"Probably."

"Report in if they show up there."

"Will do."

Stanley put the receiver back down on the phone cradle. He stared at it. Gage and DeSoto would have noticed right away if their radio was dead. In some parts of the hills, radio contact dropped out, but their last call had not been anywhere near there. And he knew that the paramedics were full up on supplies. They had been checking their boxes just before lunch.

He got up from his desk and strolled into the apparatus bay. The other men were hanging hoses out back.

"What's up, Cap?" Fireman Chet Kelly held a length of hose that Stoker was pulling up.

"Got a call from dispatch. The squad isn't answering their call."

Everyone stopped.

Stanley shrugged. "It's probably just their radio's down." He turned to go. "Just call out if they roll in."

He walked back to his office, past the engine and through the empty spot in the apparatus bay where the squad was usually parked.

**%%##%%##%% **

Doctor Early got the last of the coffee from the pot by the Rampart Emergency Base Station. Nurse McCall frowned as he walked off with a genial smile and a full cup. Sighing, she took out a pen and the nurses' schedule. Flora and Betty had just asked to trade work days.

"Uh, Dix?"

She looked up to find Officer Vince Howard of the LA County Sheriff's Department standing at her desk in black uniform and white and blue helmet.

"Hi Vince. What can I do for you?"

"We're just checking to see if you've had any gunshot victims show up."

Dixie shook her head. "No. It's actually been a quiet day. We would have noticed something like that."

"Well, there was an attempted bank robbery earlier today, but they missed one of the guards who got a few shots off. He's pretty sure he got one of them in the leg before they ran off."

"Well, we'll certainly be on the lookout for them."

Howard gave them a description of the robbers.

Suspect Number one: large man, height: six-one, maybe six-two, short brown hair, thirty-to-forty years old, gray shirt, jeans.

Suspect Number two: tall and thin, maybe six-three, shoulder length brown and gray hair, forty-to-fifty years old, blue and white plaid shirt, jeans. And a bullet wound in his leg.

Both men had worn jackets into the bank to conceal their weapons, which the guard had immediately noticed since it was a warm day.

There was also possible a get-away driver, but there was no description.

"We'll keep our eyes peeled."

Vince nodded back with a smile. "Thanks."

The buzzer at the Base Station sounded, red light flashing, a voice calling out from it. And the phone rang at the exact same time.

"I've got it." Doctor Kelly Brackett came around the corner and reached for the Base Station receiver. "Go ahead Fifty-One, this is Rampart."

Dixie picked up the phone. "Rampart General Emergency."

"Rampart, this is Fire Department dispatch. We're trying to locate one of our units. Is Squad Fifty-One there?"

". . . . Respiration is ninety-five. Patient has a gunshot in his right upper quadriceps - - -"

"Could you hold on a minute." Dixie lowered the receiver and leaned over the desk. "Vince!"

Orderlies and nurses' heads turned toward her, the head nurse of the Emergency Department, yelling down the hall. Officer Howard looked around before spotting her. Then he jogged back to the desk, past the medical personnel watching.

"Kel." She inserted herself between a surprised Brackett and the radio. "Stand by, Fifty-One." She muted the receiver and turned to Howard. "I think we might have found your bank robbers. Squad Fifty-One just called in a gunshot wound."

"Yeah." Howard put his hand on his hip and looked at the Base Station as if it might have a clue.

"And I've got Fire Department dispatch on the phone right now. Fifty-One isn't answering their calls."

"What?" Brackett looked from nurse to policeman.

"Doc, can you get a location from this thing?"

Brackett looked from policeman to Base Station. "What? No. Why should we? Vince, what's going on?"

"Doctor, we've got a couple of missing bank robbers and one of them was shot when they escaped. And it looks like now they've picked up a couple paramedics to patch him up." Vince pointed at the Base Station. "And you better not keep them waiting. I've got to call this in."

Dixie pointed at a wall phone. "Over there."

Vince went to the phone, but turned to a still stunned-looking Brackett. "Just keep 'em talking, Doc. Get anything you can that might give us a clue about their location. Just don't do anything that will make them suspicious."

**- - - End part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**DETOUR**

by ardavenport

**- - - part 3**

"Sorry about that Fifty-One. We've got calls coming in from Squads Sixty-Two and Thirty-Eight. Please repeat the vital signs."

Roy felt a thrill of hope as he repeated the vitals. There weren't any Squads Sixty-Two and Thirty-Eight. And Brackett never asked for him to repeat vital signs.

They knew.

"Is there an exit wound, Fifty-One?"

Roy's eyes flicked toward Jack. The gun still at his temple, Johnny didn't move, but his dark eyes locked on his for a second. He'd heard Brackett on the biophone. He knew. Rampart knew they were in trouble.

"That's negative Rampart. Victim appears to have lost about a liter of blood, but most of the bleeding appears to have stopped."

"All right, apply a pressure bandage to the wound, start an IV with ringers lactate and transport as soon as possible."

"Ten-four, Rampart."

Roy opened the drug box and selected what he needed from it. He laid things out more carefully than he needed to. Time. Time. He needed time. Bandage, gauze, IV tubing, bag, needle. He kept his eyes on his work. Not on his left where a man held a gun to his partner's head. He treated the wound first. The blood pressure cuff was still on the man's arm. He swabbed down a good vein in the man's arm.

"What's that for?" Larry grimaced at him.

"It's to replace the fluids you've lost; keep you from going into shock."

"Yeah. Well . . . no drugs." His jaw clenched, obviously in pain. "They're not taking me back."

"All right. No drugs." Roy clipped a couple lengths of tape to hold the IV in place with.

"I'm not going back." Larry stared up at the ceiling, winced when Roy put the needle in, connected the tubing, adjusted the drip.

"I'm not going back."

**%%##%%##%% **

The phone rang.

Captain Stanley grabbed it.

"LA County Fire Department, Captain Stanley speaking."

Polishing the already very shiny chrome on Station Fifty-One's fire engine in the apparatus bay, Chet Kelly leaned back to better peer into Captain Kelly office.

"What?" Stanley sat forward, leaning on his desk, his expression disturbingly grave.

"Uh, huh. . . . . Yeah."

Lopez and Stoker came around where they had been keeping busy to peer into the Captain's office, too.

"Right. Thanks for calling." Stanley put the phone down. None of his men made any pretense of working as he walked up to them.

"That was dispatch." Stanley rubbed the back of his neck. "Looks like the Sheriff's Department is missing a couple of bank robbers. One of them got shot getting away and Fifty-One called in a gunshot wound. But the call didn't come from dispatch."

"But Cap . . . ." Kelly shook his head. "Are you saying that they're being held hostage somewhere by these guys?"

"That's what the Sheriff's deputies are assuming. For now."

Lopez asked the obvious. "Did they call Rampart? Can't they trace the call?

"Not on the biophone. The radio can't be traced."

His men exchanged worried expressions. And Captain Stanley didn't have anything to tell them. Or anything that they could do. "All we can do is wait."

**%%##%%##%% **

"Squad Fifty-One, do you have an ETA from your location?"

Brackett waited. But he didn't hear anything for several seconds. The Sheriff's

Department had sent a detective to take over for Officer Howard and he now leaned too close next to him.

"Uh, negative Rampart. We've got a . . . . delay on this end."

"Well, transport as soon as you can. And give us an update on his vital signs."

"Ten-four, Ra - - -"

"Fifty-One, say again. We lost you there."

Silence.

"Fifty-One, can you read me?"

Silence. Not even static.

Frowning, the deputy stood back. He was middle aged with sandy blonde hair and wearing a low-end gray suit.

"Looks like that's all we're getting."

"Sargent?" Behind them, Dixie held the phone receiver out to him. "They want to talk to you."

**%%##%%##%% **

Roy stared up at the gun pointing down at him. The biophone lay on the floor where Jack had pushed it after ripping the receiver from his hand and flicking the off switch.

"That's enough stalling with the doctor for now."

Still holding the IV bag in one hand, Roy held up his other hand in surrender. "I - I wasn't stalling. He just needed to - - ."

Jack put the barrel of the gun on Roy's forehead.

"Shut up."

Roy said nothing. He could hear his heart suddenly pounding. The gun metal pressed cold and heavy on his skin. Did it feel the same for Johnny, at the back of his head?

"Now don't pretend that you and your partner aren't thinking every second about how to get out of this. I'll save you a little trouble. Don't. Don't do anything we don't tell you to do. And nobody gets shot."

Jack pulled the gun back but kept it loosely pointed at Roy as he walked backward and sat in a worn chair that matched the couch.

"Better do as he says." Roy looked to the wounded man lying on the couch. "He gets upset when people don't do what he tells them." There was no threat in Larry's voice. His tone seemed even friendly. Roy answered quietly.

"Look Larry, I know you and your friend are desperate. But you've got a very serious injury. You really need to get to a hospital. If that wound gets infected you could lose the leg. I can only do so much for you here. I'm sure that . . . something can be arranged."

Larry rolled his head to look up at the ceiling. "You know, I know that you're just doing job. But Jack and I, we're not going back to jail. The cops aren't giving us any second chances. So, do yourself a favor." Larry turned his head. His brown eyes had gone cold and cruel. "Don't ever say that again. Just do what Jack tells you to."

Roy swallowed. "Okay."

The expression in the wounded man's eyes softened. "That's right. Stay afraid. Keep yourself alive. Right now, you've still got a better chance of getting out of this than we do."

**%%##%%##%% **

Nobody pretended to do anything other than wait and worry at Station Fifty-One. The TV set was on, but nobody was really watching. Stanley would have appreciated a run. A structure fire. A traffic accident. Even a piddling little burning dumpster would have been a welcome distraction for the engine crew.

Everyone in the day room jumped when the wall phone rang. Stanley stood up from the kitchen table and answered it. Marco hurried to turn off the TV.

"LA County Fire Department, Captain Stanley speaking."

"Captain Stanley, this is Chief Houts."

"Yes, Sir." Stanley stood up straighter and took a breath. The head of the whole Fire Department would not be calling him with good news.

"The Sheriff's Department still doesn't have a location for your men; they think they're still being held hostage."

Stanley let his breath out. That meant still alive.

"Unfortunately they broke contact with Rampart. They've also got a probable I.D. for the bank robbers. The descriptions of them matches those a couple of escaped convicts from up north. One of them has a brother in the area and they're following up some leads on where they might be."

"I see, Sir." Stanley's eyes flicked to the rest of the room. Then away from the worried stares there and down at the white linoleum floor. "Can you tell me what these men were in jail for?"

"They were both convicted of armed robbery and second degree murder. One of them was also convicted of first degree murder." Houts paused. "Captain Stanley, I don't mean to pretend that this situation is any less serious than it is. But I can assure you that the Sheriff's Department is treating this as if this were two of their own."

"Yes, Sir. I understand." Stanley nodded, clutching the phone tightly to his ear. He understood. There was still nothing they could do.

"We'll call when we know more." Stanley could hear the relief in the Chief's voice that this call was nearly over.

"We appreciate that, Sir. Thank-you."

Stanley hung up. Then he faced his men.

"It just keeps getting better." He exhaled. "They still don't know where Gage and DeSoto are. And they lost contact with them at Rampart."

The wooden chair scraped loudly as Kelly pulled it back to sit down at the table.

"And they think that the missing bank robbers are a couple of escaped convicts. They're tracking down some leads about where they might be."

There was too much bad news at once. Stanley left to wait in his office.

**- - - End part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**DETOUR**

by ardavenport

**- - - part 4**

John Gage never imagined that he could get bored with being a hostage. But Jack wasn't holding a gun to his head. Sally and Chuck had retreated to a bedroom. Larry was doing better. Or at least he wasn't getting any worse. Jack mostly brooded, sitting beside the curtain so he could see the front of the house outside the front window. It was getting to be late afternoon.

Roy kept looking at him. After the IV bag emptied, they had him take the needle out and bandage Larry's arm. Then they tied his hands up. In front of him. With a cord. Obviously they expected him to treat Larry if he had complications.

Maybe an hour ago Sally emerged once to make sandwiches. Bologna on white bread, slathered with mayonnaise. She offered some to them. Roy declined and Sally apparently didn't see the nasty look he gave her over the duct tape. Jack took a half a sandwich and Larry took nothing.

Johnny caught his head nodding forward. He jerked it upright again, blinking.

"Johnny. . . ."

As soon as Roy spoke, Jack's attention was on them from where he sat by the front window. Roy sat back, his bound hands resting on the stained white cloth on the square dining table.

Jack got up, but instead of coming over to their end of the room, he sat down on the coffee table for a talk with Larry. The two of them had made some kind of plans earlier, but neither paramedic could hear what. Jack leaned close to Larry whenever they talked, their heads almost touching, their voices low.

Johnny and Roy exchanged looks, silent sympathy. Then Johnny winced. The rag filled his mouth, blocking his jaw open. It tasted like old soap scum and now it was soaked with his saliva which was only slightly better than how the cloth had been dry. The duct tape pulled on his hair. Not all of it, just individual hairs that stabbed at him every time he moved his head the wrong way. He didn't know how he was going to get the tape off without ripping half his hair out after they got out of this.

Johnny watched the two men by the sofa.

If they got out of this.

He hated Jack. There was a man who enjoyed his own personal power. He _liked_ hurting people. Jack was one of the reasons why they invented prisons, which was obviously where these two characters came from. Jack had pushed the drug box off the coffee table, its contents, white packets scattered all over the floor next to the biophone. A radio that they could call for help with. But it was just as inaccessible as the phone.

Outside, the light had changed a lot. The house faced south, but he could see that the sun was a lot lower in the sky. It would be getting dark soon.

That must be what they were waiting for. Night. When it was dark and they hoped to sneak away. But then what? They couldn't all go in that white car.

What would happen to him and Roy?

Jack finished with Larry, patted him on the shoulder and went back to his spot by the curtains.

Johnny saw him tense, heard him swear.

"Chuck! Get out here! There's a cop outside!"

Chuck came running out, pulling his pants up. Larry pushed himself upright. His face contorted with pain, he tried to turn to see through the front window.

"Get back!"

Jack pushed Chuck out of the way to the front door, pulled it open and ran out.

Johnny heard shots.

"What? Are you crazy, Jack! Trying to kill a cop?" Chuck went after him but stopped just inside the doorway.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Johnny saw blue on his right. Roy ran froward and dove for the biophone. Larry pulled out a gun.

"Ooooooooiiyyyyyyy! OOOOIIYYYYYY!"

The gag choked off his cry, the sound hardly loud at all. Roy froze, staring up at Larry's pistol.

Bang! Bang! A car engine roared away from the gunfire outside.

"Drop that. Right now."

Roy let the receiver fall out of his hand. He held his bound hands up for Larry to see. Where did Larry get a gun? Did he have it under his shirt the whole time?

Jack came running back, Chuck stumbling after him.

"He got away. Plan's changed. We're going now."

"Going? Going? Where are we supposed to be going? We don't have any money, Jack!" Sally, wearing less make-up and no earrings, her hair displaced, stood in the doorway of the bedroom, clutching the jacket of her pantsuit over herself.

"We're going now!" Jack strode up to her with his gun. "We go now or we get trapped here."

"Chuck, help me up." Larry pushed his legs off the couch.

"Larry!" Chuck went to his injured brother. "You're not in any shape to go anywhere."

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere with you guys! I've had enough of this. I want you two out of my house, right now."

Jack grabbed Sally by the hair and shook her.

"Listen. Your boyfriend's brother and I have plans. We're not going back to prison. And we're leaving this craphole house of yours right now." He put the muzzle of his gun on her cheek. She gasped. "And you're going with us." He dragged her to the front door.

"Larry this is crazy." Chuck supported his brother on one side. Larry's right hand still held the gun on the other.

"We're not going back there, Chuck. No matter what." They edged around the coffee table together. "We'll let you and your girlfriend out as soon as we're away. You can tell them you were hostages. Get off clean." Larry grit his teeth in pain, trying to keep his weight off of his injured leg as much as possible.

Johnny saw real fear in Sally's eyes; Jack kept a tight grip on her. She and Chuck had become the new hostages.

"Well, what about them?" Chuck pointed at Roy, still kneeling over the biophone and looking up at them.

"Take care of them, Larry."

Larry scowled toward his partner at the front door. He cocked his gun.

"Get up. Turn around."

Roy hesitated. "Now, look, you don't want to do - - "

Larry pointed the gun at Roy's forehead.

"Get. Up. Turn. Around." His voice had gone hard again, like Jack's.

Roy got up slowly, clumsily with his hands still bound before him.

He turned around.

His blue eyes stared, wide, not really seeing anything in front of him. Johnny's arms strained against the duct tape. The arms of the chair creaked. It was cheap furniture. He breathed in and out loudly through his nose, over the tape and rag.

Larry flipped the gun around and struck Roy on the back of the head. He went down, falling face down over the mess on the floor.

"Ooooo-ooiiiiyyyyyy!" The chair creaked again, but it didn't give.

"Get me outta here, Chuck." The two brothers made it to the door where Jack sneered.

"You coward."

"They're not going anywhere and they didn't hear anything. Let's get out of here, now." They left. Johnny heard their footsteps receding down the front walk. Then a car door slammed. A car engine started.

"Oooooooo-oooiiiiiiiyyyyyy!"

Roy didn't move, his body stretched out on the floor, his head resting on his bound arms.

"Oooooooooo-oooiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyy!"

Johnny's arms strained. He thought he felt movement in the left arm of the chair, but only a little bit. He couldn't get any leverage with his legs, bound to the chair.

"Ooooooooooo-ooooiiiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyy!"

Thump.

He pushed up with his body so the chair came down fractionally closer to Roy, about ten feet away.

"Oooooo-ooiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyy!"

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The chair caught on the carpet. Johnny teetered precariously before the chair tilted back again. And then almost overbalanced the other way before steadying. He was maybe an inch closer to Roy.

"Ooooo-ooiiiiiiiyyyyyyy!"

The soggy mass of the rag in his mouth muffled any sound he made and his tongue couldn't move to speak.

Had they gone? The front door was open, but he didn't hear anything. It was getting dark outside. There was a light on in the kitchen, but the rest of the room was getting dark.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

That got him maybe another two inches closer. Without tipping the chair.

"Oooooooo-oooiiiiiiiyyyyyyy!"

The chair's left arm was definitely loose now and he pushed and pulled on it, but it didn't feel like it was going to break. The skin on his arms hurt.

Johnny's head jerked upright. There was a car outside. The glow of flashing red lights on the curtain.

"Eeeeeeeerrrrrreeeee! Eeeeeeeeerrrrrreeeeee!"

Could they see the squad? Even covered up with bed sheets it was a pretty conspicuous shape. And was a bed sheet big enough to cover it anyway? Did the police know they were inside? Had Rampart sent them? He heard footsteps outside.

A dark shape appeared, moving just outside the open front door.

One police officer appeared. Then another. And another. Guns drawn, pointing straight out in front of them, scanning in all directions. One went to the back of the house. Another to the kitchen. Officer Vince Howard stealthily entered the living room, peering around the corner as he went.

"Iiiiiiiiiiiinnnnhhhhhhh! Eeeeeeeeerrrrrrreeeeeeeeee. Oooeeeerrrr eeeeeerrrrreeee!

Vince hardly glanced at him. He flicked on a lamp and then he deliberately walked around Roy's body as he crouched toward the bedrooms.

"Iiiiiiiinnnhhhhhhh! Uuuuhhh rrrrrrrr oooooohhh oooooohhhhnniiii?" The chair creaked.

Lights flicked on from other parts of the house and the bedrooms.

"All clear!"

"All clear! Sarge!"

Vince returned, standing tall and re-holstering his weapon. "All clear, Sarge!" Finally Vince bent down. "Roy?"

As soon as Vince touched him Roy lifted his head. Johnny started.

"Are they gone, Vince?"

"Yeah, they're gone. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. One of them hit me, but I'm okay." Vince helped Roy to stand.

"Here let me try to get these off." Vince fumbled with the cord around Roy's wrists.

"Uuuuuhhh? Oooooooooooiiiiiiiyyyyyyy!"

"Johnny - - Vince can you help Johnny?"

"Tom, try to get that stuff off of him."

A younger officer tugged at the duct tape on one arm, then he tried to get his fingers under it on his face.

"Aaaaaaaaaawwwwwww!"

"Vince there are scissors in my hip pouch here. And Johnny's, too."

The policemen found the scissors and Roy was cut free and then he took the scissors from Vince and started on Johnny's gag while Tom severed the duct tape from the chair legs.

"Oooooooooiiiiiiiyyyyyyy!"

"Now hold still." Roy worked a finger under the upper edge of the tape on one side of the gag.

"They really made a job of that on him. Why didn't they tie you up like that?" Vince looked over Roy's shoulder.

"They needed me to treat the gunshot wound. And they had a gun to Johnny's head practically the whole time." The edge of the scissors slid in next under the tape. Cold pointed metal sliced downward through the tape and the edge of the gag.

"I'm going to call this in and tell the Fire Department we got their men back." The senior officer left with a cursory wave.

Roy slowly peeled the tape away. It tugged painfully at Johnny's face as it came away until his mouth was free. Roy pulled the rag out and tossed it aside.

"Aaaaacccckkk." Johnny bent forward, gagging and sputtering.

"Can you get him some water?"

"Sure." Tom went to the kitchen.

"Hang on, I'll get you out of this." Roy sliced the duct tape along the small gap between the curve of the Johnny's arm and the armrest of the chair. Johnny pulled his left arm up.

"Ow."

"Hang on." Roy snipped the other side of the duct tape from the armrest, freeing the arm completely. Then he did the same on Johnny's right arm.

"Roy! What are you doing?" Johnny waved his now free arms.

"I'm cutting you free!" Roy leaned back, surprised by the sudden outburst.

Johnny pushed himself up from the chair. "But - but - but - you were lying there - and - and - that guy hit you with his gun - and - and - you were just lying there!"

"I was playing dead, Johnny! Those guys had guns! If one of them hits me with the butt of his gun, I'm going to stay down," Roy pointed at his chest, "just in case he comes back, changes his mind and decides to use the other end of it!"

"But - but - you didn't get up when the cops came in!" Vince stepped back out of range of one widely waved gesture. The flap of duct tape still hanging off of Johnny face waved with each excited movement.

"I didn't want to get shot by the cops either! Haven't you ever heard of friendly fire? I was going to stay down until I was sure it was safe!"

Tom had returned from the kitchen with a glass of water. He looked with dismay at the two former hostages yelling at each other and put the glass down on the stained table cloth. But when the young officer opened his mouth to say something, Vince, the senior officer, waved his hand, 'no'. Neither paramedic noticed the silent byplay between the cops.

Johnny gaped at his partner. "Well, you could have _told_ me!"

Roy gaped back in disbelief. "How am I supposed to do that if I'm playing dead?"

"I don't know! You could have given me _some_ kind of signal! I was going crazy here thinking you had a concussion! A subdural hematoma!"

"This isn't a TV show, Johnny! You can't just knock someone out by hitting them over the head with the butt of a gun!"

"What? You're telling me now that you weren't even hurt?"

"Well, of course it hurt! The guy hit me over the head with his gun!"

"Where?" In one step, Gage was at Roy's side, reaching for the back of his head.

"Ow!" Roy reached up, but Johnny was already behind him probing the bump.

"Is that it?"

"Ow! Yes!" Roy tried twisting around, but Johnny grasped his shoulder.

"Roy, sit down. Let me look at it."

Still trying to brush off his partner, Roy went to an empty chair at the dining table. Johnny pulled up the chair that he had so recently been tied to. He reached for his belt pouch and brought up his pen light.

Roy leaned back. "I don't need - - -"

"Roy, will you let me look?"

Clinching his teeth, he sat still, his eyes fixed on the top of his partner's head while Johnny flashed his pen light at his eyes. He could tell from Johnny's unhappy expression that his pupil response was fine.

"I also _don't_ have any dizziness, headache or nausea. And I did _not_ lose consciousness. Are you satisfied now?"

"Yeah, well . . . . it could have been worse."

"Are you two done?"

Both fireman looked up at Officer Vince Howard, arms folded, standing over them.

"What?" Gage sat back.

"What do mean 'done', Vince?"

Vince relaxed his arms to his sides.

"Well, a lot of crime victims can be pretty traumatized by the experience and they need to let some of that out. And in my experience it's usually best to let it out right away and not let it fester. I was just wondering if you were finished."

"What?" DeSoto sat back.

"What are you talking about, Vince?"

Both paramedics looked offended, but nothing could displace Officer Vince Howard's calm professional confidence.

"Well, you may do all right with burning buildings and rescues. But escaped convicts and gun play, that's my job. And in that territory, you two are just civilians."

Neither crime victim sitting at the dining table seemed to believe him. Still smiling, Vince left them to go to the front door where the Sargent had just entered. A smirking Officer Tom joined them.

"Traumatized? What he's talking about?"

Roy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Civilians." Johnny muttered the word with distaste. "What's he talking about? Civilians."

"I don't know."

Shoulders hunched, they looked away from each other. It was mostly dark outside, except for the flashing police lights. Shadows deepened the dingy, worn colors of the living room. Roy turned his head. Then he reached out and tugged on the flag of duct tape hanging off of Johnny's face.

"Ow."

"Sorry. How about we get some of this off of you."

Roy pulled back the tape from one cheek, clipped it off and put it aside, having to stick it to the table cloth to get it off his fingers. Then he did the other side while Johnny carefully peeled away the tape from his arms.

Roy gently pulled on more tape going back under Johnny's ear.

"Ow! Roy, you got my hair."

The policemen finished their conference and the Sargent left again. Holding a small notepad, Officer Howard went to a telephone on an end table. He picked up the receiver and started dialing.

**- - - End part 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**DETOUR**

by ardavenport

**- - - part 5**

* * *

Dinner was almost ready. Captain Stanley could smell it from his office. Macaroni and cheese with slices of hot dogs and onion in it. Something that Mike cooked up. Maybe string beans to go with it. It would be acceptable. Stanley tapped the end of his pencil on his pad of scribbled notes about their latest fire code inspections. They were behind on a few and he didn't like that; headquarters didn't like it. But he still had trouble concentrating on it.

The phone on his desk rang.

He grabbed it in the middle of the second ring.

"LA County Fire Department, Captain Stanley speaking."

"Captain Stanley, this is Officer Howard with the Sheriff's Department - - "

The pencil snapped.

" - - We found your men and they're alive and well."

Stanley sat straight up in his chair.

"Are they there with you?"

"Have a listen."

Stanley heard two other voices, not on the phone, but obviously in the same room.

" - - - You're not going to get that stuff out. Will you just let me cut it out."

"Don't come near me with those scissors - - -"

Howard's voice returned, drowning out the others. "Yeah, they're right here. Our fugitives roughed them up a bit and messed up their equipment, but they're fine."

Stanley laughed. "Well, put one of those twits on the phone, would you Vince?"

"Sure thing."

Vince's voice sounded further away as he called them to the phone.

"Uh, hello?" Roy's voice sounded uncertain.

"Hey pal, where you guys been? People've been looking all over for you two." Stanley grinned broadly.

"Oh, Captain! - - It's the Captain. - - We're fine here. We sort of got detoured by a call we didn't expect."

"I'll say." He leaned forward over his desk, phone to his ear. "So, when do you think you're going to make it back here?"

"Uh, I don't know - - " Vince's voice said something in the background, "Uh, we're going to have to stay here to talk to the detectives, and then we'll have to stop a Rampart for some supplies. I really don't know how long we'll be."

"Well take as much time as you need. And Roy . . . " Stanley rubbed his eyes, "it's really good to hear your voice, pal."

"Yeah, Cap, it's . . . . good to hear yours, too."

Stanley hung up the phone, sat back and let out a long sigh. A moment for him to enjoy the vanished tension.

"Mike!" He did not need to call out very loudly for the three firemen lurking just outside his office door to hear. He could see a bit of hair and the tips of someone's shoes. "You got dinner ready?"

"Almost there, Cap!"

The three eavesdroppers moved on. Stanley shook his head..

"Almost there."

**%%##%%##%% **

"Kel!"

Brackett looked up at McCall, then over to where she was looking.

"Hey!" Brackett smiled when he saw John Gage and Roy DeSoto coming to the Emergency Base Station desk. "It's good to see you two! We were pretty worried."

"We were too." Roy smiled back, but Johnny kept a long face. Dixie tilted her head at him.

"What's with the fire helmet?"

Gage made a face under the wide black brim, 'L.A. County 51' written large in white letters on the shield front over it.

"Well, are you going to tell her, or am I going to have to do it?" Gage just scowled back at his partner, so Roy continued. "The bank robbers tied him up with duct tape and they gagged him. Now he's got it stuck all over his head and he won't let me cut it off."

"Oh." Dixie glanced downward. "Is that why you have duct tape on your pants?"

Everyone looked down at the dull silvery strips under his knees.

"Oh great." Gage bent down and tugged off the duct tape. Roy helped.

They each came up with a sticky wad of tape. Roy gave his to Johnny who tried to hold them with as few of his fingers as possible. He looked imploringly at nurse and doctor.

"You've gotta have something to get this off with."

Brackett had to smile. Gage looked so desperate, as if a bit of tape stuck to him was the worst thing to happen. Dixie held her hand out.

"Here, I'll take that. I've got just the thing for it."

"You do?" Johnny leaned toward her, hope in his eyes. Dixie nodded calmly back to him.

"Mmm-hmm. Now give me that." She took the tape wads. "And stay right here." They watched as she walked down the hall.

"I still think you should cut it off."

Gage whirled around to his partner.

"You're pretty eager to cut off my hair."

"Well, you're always about an eight of an inch short of regulation anyway. A little haircut wouldn't hurt. I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind." Roy put his hand on his hip pouch. Johnny hopped back a step.

"Oh no you don't. Don't come near me with those scissors."

"Hey, guys!" A beaming Doctor Early walked up to them, putting his hands on their shoulders. He looked happily from one to the other. "It's great to see you. We were pretty worried. What happened after you broke contact with us?"

DeSoto answered. "They were holding us hostage at the house of the brother of one of the convicts and his girlfriend."

Brackett gave him a puzzled look. "Convicts? I thought they were bank robbers."

"They were that, too." Gage nodded his affirmative. "Convicts who tried to rob a bank. Escaped convicts."

"Well, what happened to them?" Early looked from one fireman to the other again. Both briefly glanced down before DeSoto spoke.

"When they spotted the cops checking the place out following a lead on the brother, they decided to make a run for it."

"Yeah, and they bashed Roy over the head and left me tied up on their way out."

Roy continued with what Vince Howard had told them. "Well, the cops had to chase them down practically into the next county. They got Chuck and his girlfriend, but Larry and Jack. . . . they, uh, didn't want to go back to jail, and they've made sure of it now." He spoke quietly. Death, even for criminals, deserved a little respect.

Johnny was less sympathetic. "I don't know about Larry, but that guy Jack was determined to stay out of jail or die. And I'm not sorry he got what he wanted."

"Larry's the one who got shot. He wasn't as bad as the other one. When they were leaving he had a chance to shoot me - - both of us - - and he didn't."

"Yeah, but for a minute there it looked like he was. And you know that if Jack hadn't been busy with Chuck's girlfriend, he would've done it."

Doubt remained in Roy's blue eyes which only further animated Johnny.

"Oh, you know he would have, Roy. That guy was crazy. And _mean_."

"Yeah." He nodded reluctantly. "He probably would have."

Early tilted his head curiously. "What's with the fire helmet, Johnny?"

Before anyone could answer, everyone's attention turned to Dixie returning. She carried a big plastic bottle of clear liquid with a pink cap on top.

"Come on." She only paused briefly, confident that Roy and Johnny would follow. Two curious doctors trailed after them as well. She led them into an empty treatment room and lowered the height of the examination table.

"Have a seat."

Gage, eyes suspicious, sat on the table.

"Kel, could you get me those wipes, please."

Brackett said nothing about the role reversal of the nurse asking the doctor to assist. Dixie McCall always knew what she was doing. He got the wipes from the metal counter full of medical equipment. She put them on the table next to Gage.

"Now." She pulled off the chin strap and lifted the helmet from Johnny's head and handed it to Roy who stood next to her. The two doctors peered over her shoulders. The wide layers of tape went from the back of Gage's jaw, across the back of his head under his ears. She unscrewed the cap, tipped the bottle over a wipe and then reached up and began dabbing at the edge of the tape nearest to her.

Johnny wrinkled his nose and sniffed, but his expression changed to surprise when he felt the tape coming free where Dixie worked. Dixie tipped more onto the wipe and resumed dabbing. The tape fell back away from his now slippery hair.

"Hey what is that stuff?"

"Baby oil. Most oils will dissolve glue. And its good for removing make-up."

"Make-up?" Johnny drew back. Dixie could practically feel the other men around her recoiling. She gave the young fireman a stern look.

"Well, it's either this or Roy and the scissors."

Brows lowered, Johnny's eyes went to his partner. He didn't pull back again when she applied more to the tape. Then she stopped and held out the bottle and wipes to Roy. "Here take the other side."

Roy shrugged, took a wipe, put some baby oil on it and started dabbing at the other side of Johnny's head.

"I still think we should cut it."

Sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff. "Smells pretty good, Johnny." Dr. Early had a silly grin on his face. Dr. Brackett just smirked.

"Oh, don't pay any attention to them." Dixie held the end of a length of tape between thumb and forefinger, pulling it out as she freed the hair from it. She reached across Johnny's lap for the bottle and he handed it to her. She handed it back to him to hold in his lap after she'd poured more on her wipe.

"Yeah this works pretty well." Roy was impressed. The oiled hair came away easily from the tape, the stickiness completely neutralized.

"Yeah, well this will get the tape off, but what am I going to use to get this stuff off?" Johnny felt like his head had been dipped in women's perfume.

"Johnny." Dixie paused to pin him with her gaze. "Shampoo still takes out oil." She went back to work.

"Here, lean forward." Roy touched his shoulder and he obeyed, dropping his head so they could get at the tape on the back. Roy and Dixie kept working until they met in back. She took the long length of stiff, greasy tape and threw it away.

Sighing with relief, Johnny ran his fingers through his hair. And, immediately regretting it, he held his hands out before wiping his fingers on his pants.

Sniff-sniff. "I don't know if that's the right scent for you, Johnny. Perhaps something with a little more lemon in it." Dr. Early was still grinning. Dr. Brackett folded his arms before him, 'hmm'ing as if agreeing with a grave medical diagnosis.

"Stop it." Dixie lightly whacked Early on the arm.

Johnny frowned back. Then he picked up the fire helmet again and put it on, covering up his greasy hair. "I don't care about these two. This is nothing compared to what they're going to say back at the station."

"Come on." Roy patted him on the back. "Let's get it over with."

"What about the supplies?"

"Oh yeah." Roy turned to appeal to Dixie, but she spoke first.

"Come on, I'll fix you up." Then she pointed a stern finger at the doctors. "And you two clowns, get back to work."

Early and Brackett drew back and looked at each other with pretentious innocence. But Early still had his silly smile.

"Yes, Ma'am."

**- - - End part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**DETOUR**

by ardavenport

**- - - part 6**

* * *

It was late. Night. Well past dinner time. Sparse traffic. They took the usual route from Rampart back to the fire station. Other than Gage calling into dispatch that they were available, they rode in silence. The squad traveled down dark streets, artificially brightened by street lights, signs, parking lots and lit buildings.

Roy drove, his thoughts only half on the road ahead. They were used to life threatening situations. Fires, collapsed buildings, high rises. Why did this one feel so different? But it hadn't really been a run. Not an assignment from the dispatcher at all. But that wasn't the only difference. There was something else.

It felt like . . . . . like . . . . . like . . . . . like . . . . . like a run where they lost a victim. Not one where they found someone dead in their car from a traffic accident. But one where the victim died and they couldn't stop it. It didn't happen often. Not often at all. But when it did, the memory stayed with them.

Exhaling, Roy felt a little relief just from pinning down what was making him uneasy.

"Johnny."

His partner looked at him from his side of the squad, the shadows on his face continuously moving from the streetlights they passed.

"Did you think about what would happen if, well, if Jack had been holding the gun instead of Larry?"

He gave a long-faced shrug. "Not much to say. We wouldn't be here to say anything about it if he did. But not any different than if we got killed in a fire, I guess."

"No." He looked toward Johnny briefly. "It would be different. That's not the kind of stuff we do. I mean, maybe. . . . Vince was right. That when it comes to cops and robbers, we're just civilians. I mean, that's not what I signed up for."

Johnny slouched on the seat. "Me either. But, not much we can do about it now."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"But you know what?" Johnny gave him a sad, crooked smile. "I sure am glad it was Larry who was holding that gun."

Roy nodded and smiled back. "Yeah."

He slowed the squad down; they were approaching the station. The apparatus bay door was open, the engine gone.

"Looks like you're in luck. You can wash your hair before the guys get back."

Roy had the squad backed up in the driveway when Johnny bolted upright.

"Roy! I don't have any shampoo!"

Weren't they just talking about life and death just a second ago?

"I've got some in my locker you can borrow that."

**%%##%%##%% **

"Squad's back, Cap." Mike Stoker stated with a big grin what they could all see as he slowed down to back the engine into the station.

Lopez and Stoker were in the seats closest to the dayroom, but Stanley and Kelly ran around the big red fire engine quick enough so they all got to the door at the same time.

Gage and DeSoto were sitting at the kitchen table facing them. They had found the food left warming in the oven and there were plates of mostly eaten food and glasses of milk in front of them.

"Hey look who's here!"

"Where you been?!"

"Finally! Glad you could make it back!"

The four firemen crowded around the returned paramedics. Stanley could not stop grinning. Gage and DeSoto never looked so good. He patted Gage on the back and then noticed his damp head.

"Hey what's with the hair, John?"

Roy swallowed a bite before answering. "They tied him up and taped his mouth shut. They got some of it in his hair, so we had to wash it out."

"Wow." Chet Kelly put a hand on his chest, his eyes lighting up. "Taping Gage's mouth shut. Why didn't I ever think of that?"

Everyone laughed, even Johnny who muttered a 'shut up, Chet' around a mouthful. They all settled down in the other chairs. Stanley pointed a thumb at the fridge.

"There's cake in there, too, for dessert."

"Thanks, Cap. I'm starved." Johnny washed down another mouthful with his milk.

Sitting at the table, looking at his men, Stanley leaned forward on his arms. "Well, I'm not afraid to say that we were _really_ worried about you two. I mean the calls we got from headquarters made it sound worse all the time."

Roy put his fork down. "I'll tell you, Cap. It did keep getting worse all the time."

Johnny nodded, putting his glass down. "Those guys were _scary_."

"Scarier than a brush fire?"

"Scarier than a brush fire, Marco."

"Scarier than a three alarm fire?"

"Scarier than a three alarm fire, Mike."

"Scarier than a gas explosion?"

"Not even close, Chet. These guys were a whole new level of scary."

"You know." Roy looked around at his fellow firefighters. "Vince told us at the scene that we were just civilians for that kind of thing. I didn't want to admit it at the time. But I think he was right. I mean, I don't know how he deals with people like that. The ones who might be shooting at him, trying to kill him."

"Me either." Johnny took another bite of macaroni.

Stanley looked around at his men, smiled and rested his chin on his hand. "Well, I'm sure he says the same thing about what we do."

**

* * *

%%##%%##%% END %%##%%##%%**

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
